


Twenty-three

by MissMudpie



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:25:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3723712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMudpie/pseuds/MissMudpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty-three days after Nanda Parbat.  Speculation for 3x21.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I blame all the wedding and baby spec that happened yesterday. Please note that I don't necessarily think nor want this to happen. But this story worm got in my brain and demanded to be let out.

It had been twenty-three days.

 

Twenty-three days since she said goodbye to him, last felt his lips pressed first against hers and then her hairline, seen his back as he’d walked away.

 

Twenty-three days since she’d whispered a promise in his ear.

 

 _I’m coming back for you_.

 

Her apartment was littered with printouts, information she had found in the dark corners of the internet, all from dubious sources. Legends about the League, and its immortal leader.  Reports tying the Lazarus Pit to the Fountain of Youth.  Enemies she could turn into allies.  Everything, anything, she could use to bring Oliver back home.

 

She didn’t hear the knocks, didn’t hear the lock click or the door open and shut.  She didn’t realize she wasn’t alone until he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

 

“Felicity.”

 

“When did you get here?”

 

Digg just sighed.  “You weren’t answering your phone.”

 

“What?  No, it’s right here.”  A quick glance told her the battery was dead.  “I thought I charged it.”

 

He knelt beside her.  “You have to stop, Felicity.  Oliver wouldn’t want this.”

 

“Oliver rarely knows what he wants.”

 

“He’s gone.”

 

“No!” she cried fiercely, pulling away from him and knocking over a stack of papers in the process.  “No.  We thought he was dead and he came back.  He ran before and we brought him back.  We can do it again.”

 

“This is different.  He’s not on Lian Yu beating himself up.  He’s – ”

 

“I know where he is, John, and I’m not leaving him there!”

 

“You think I do?” Digg shouted. “You think I want to leave him there?” Heavy silence fell over them both before he ran a hand over his face.  “Oliver is my brother,” he said softly.  “You think I haven’t been wracking my brains trying to think of a way to bring him home?  That I don’t want to hop on a jet and bomb that place off the face of the earth?  But this,” he spread his arms wide, indicating the destruction in the room.  “Felicity, this is not healthy.  This isn’t doing anyone any good.  Not Oliver, and especially not you.”

 

She righted the papers and blinked back tears. “This is what I do, John. I gather information. I don’t…I don’t know what else TO do.”

 

“When was the last time you went outside? Showered?”  She shrugged.  “Eaten?”

 

“I had some toast…yesterday?” It was still sitting on her counter, half-eaten because after a few bites her stomach had rebelled against the raspberry jam she usually loved.

 

Digg nodded.  “Okay.”  He removed his jacket and looked for a place to put it.  Finding none, he hung it over the doorknob.  Carefully, keeping her piles intact, he stacked her reams of research along the wall, clearing space on the couch and coffee table. “Okay,” he repeated when he was done. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I brought Big Belly. You’re going to eat, you’re going to shower, and then you’ll tell me what you’ve found.”  His tone allowed no room for argument.

 

Wordlessly, she sat down and accepted the bag of food. She nibbled on a fry as Digg watched her intently.  It felt good going down. Maybe he was right.

 

“Thanks,” she said, unwrapping the burger and preparing to add extra ketchup. 

 

A yellow glob of cheese stared back at her. Her stomach turned and she coughed back a gag.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“There’s cheese on it.”

 

Digg stared at her.  “You always get cheese.”

 

She side-eyed the burger.  Her stomach rolled and she gagged again.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t think I can eat it.”  Off his look, she popped another fry in her mouth.  “These are good, though.”  She smiled, hoping to appease him.

 

Once again, Digg regarded her, then looked around the room.  When his eyes fell on the half-eaten toast, she hastily explained, “I should have thrown that out. The jam had gone bad or something.”

 

He simply nodded and asked, “Have you been sleeping?”

 

She broke a long fry into pieces. “I’ve been trying not to, not too much, at least.  Not when he’s…But I keep passing out.”  She didn’t tell him what always woke her - Oliver’s eyes as he looked at her one last time. The sound of his voice whispering, “Don’t,” when she’d told him she’d come back for him.

 

Digg again ran his hand over his face, then leaned towards her, elbows on his knees.  “Felicity.  I need to ask you something.”

 

“Yeah, anything.”

 

“When we were in Nanda Parbat…Did something…happen…between you and Oliver?”  Her refusal to meet his eyes and light blush told him all he needed to know. “I thought so. I just didn’t think…” His voice trailed off.  “There’s something else I need to know.  And it’s personal, so I’m just going to ask it.”

 

“John, you’re kinda freaking me out.”

 

“When was your last cycle?”

 

She crinkled her nose.  “Cycle?  You mean…Cycle cycle?  It was,” she paused, trying to remember.

 

“Since Nanda Parbat?”

 

“No, it was before that.”  She gasped.  “Oh, God,” she whispered as realization hit her.  “Oh, God.  It was before that.” She stood up, scattering fries everywhere.  “No. No, this is not happening.”

 

“Felicity – ”

 

“No. Not like this.  This is – this is supposed to happen to teenagers after prom. I knew girls that this happened to after prom.  Not now. Not when he’s…”

 

“Felicity!”  Digg grabbed her shoulders and held her tight.  “We don’t know.  We don’t know.  Let’s be sure before you panic, okay?”

 

She let out a shuddering breath. “There’s a drug store around the corner.”

 

“You alright by yourself if I go?” She nodded.  “Eat the fries.  Put on the TV.  I’ll be back soon.”

 

Twenty-three minutes later, as the Barefoot Contessa droned in the background about chicken stock, Felicity watched as the second pink line appeared.  A watery laugh escaped her throat as she sat on the closed toilet.  Because of course she and Oliver couldn’t do anything in the right order.  Of could this had happened on their one night together, as they’d said their wordless goodbyes. Of course she would find out when he was halfway around the world, fighting for his soul.

 

The laugh turned to silent sobs.

 

Sometime later, the door creaked open, and then Digg was kneeling in front of her.  “Hey.” He took her hands in hers. “It’s okay.”

 

“No, John, it’s not.  It’s really, really not.”  She glanced again at the stick.  “Now what?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More from the Twenty-Three-verse.

“Oliver, you can’t just throw those words around.” Gunshots rang out, closer this time, and he pulled her farther into the damp alley.

Diggle had kept his word, he’d done what she couldn’t – he’d brought Oliver back to her.

What they hadn’t counted on was the League of Assassins following him back to Starling, bringing their civil war with them.

Oliver had been loath to leave her alone since he returned, and especially after he’d heard her news he insisted on being no more than an arm’s length away from her at all times. Felicity had argued it’d be safer for all of them if she’d just holed up somewhere – a locked room with excellent wifi, perhaps – but Oliver had just growled. “He already got to Thea. I won’t let him get to you, too.”

So now here they were, separated from the rest of their team, huddled behind a dumpster.

And he’d chosen then to say those words to her.

“You don’t know what they are – ” Felicity began, but Oliver quickly cut her off.

“I know exactly what they are, and I mean it.” 

Her tablet beeped and she glanced down to check everyone’s position. “Nyssa and Laurel have beaten some back. But looks like the survivors are headed, uh, yup, straight towards us. So we should, you know…”

“Felicity.” His black-gloved hand cupped her cheek as he repeated the words. “I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.”

Time stopped. With shaking hands, she pushed back his hood. 

No mask, no grease paint. Just him. 

Her Oliver.

Pressing her forehead to his, she whispered, “I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.”

He kissed her. Or she kissed him, she wasn’t entirely sure. This wasn’t like their kiss in Nanda Parbat, which tasted like goodbye. This was full of hope.

“I know, there’s supposed to be a ring or something…”

“Later,” she said. “If we survive this.”

“When we survive this. Because we’re getting out of here alive, Felicity.” His hand gently rubbed against her lower belly. “All of us.”


End file.
